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Chasing 'Papa'

I was sitting pretty on a wooden barstool at the legendary El Floridita in the 1950s reality warp that is Hemingway’s Havana. Although "Papa" preferred the diminutive cheroot even to a number-one rated Havana, I sucked on a just-lit premium habano, a locally rolled Lonsdale I'd purchased for a song at the nearby Partagas factory. I was careful not to inhale.

It is Saturday, cocktail time and I am "on a rhumba," Hemingway's phrase for tying one on. I'd shared mojitoes, Papa's favored mint-rum julep, and cans of Hatuey beer with two locals at a casa de la trova the night before. We shook our shoulders to the voluptuous sound of salsa, a sound more incessant in this historic city than the noise of traffic. At midnight we cruised the Malecón, Havana's oceanfront boulevard in a high-finned barracuda-colored 1957 Chevy Bel Air.

The Malecón is lined with derelict two-story pillared mansions, and boasts the infamous Casino and Hotel Riviera, constructed for US$14 million in 1959 by Miami gangster Meyer Lansky just weeks before Fidel Castro took power and Cuba's American era came to an end. My Cuban friends had never heard of Lansky, but knew of Ernest Hemingway and had appropriated him as their own literary legend. Hemingway is Fidel Castro's favorite author.

One young woman, skin colored chocolate and wrapped like a candy bar in silver Lycra, recited a passage (in Spanish) from Papa's spiritual novella The Old Man and the Sea, the Pulitzer Prize-winning story about an old Cuban fisherman and a giant marlin. The woman was familiar with Hemingway's face from pictures of him decorating the walls of his favorite hangout, the Floridita, where I sit each day at cocktail time.

Behind the expanse of La Cuna Del Daquiri's (Cradle of the Daiquiri's) bar, a barman and woman in twin tuxes shake silver containers. The containers rhumba too, the rhythmic mambo of crushed ice and liquid click-clicking like Cuban stilettos on the Tropicana's heel-marked stage. The barman splashes in four generous fingers of tres años Havana Club; squeezes in grapefruit juice, deftly adds ice, and starts the container dance again. Bacardi, the original Cuban rum, doesn't exist in Cuba, but Havana's Bacardi building (expropriated from the Bacardi family when Castro took power) stands empty and topped with the Bacardi symbol, a vampirish black bat, wings spread and ready to fly. More Havana Club and a squeeze of lime; and the daiquiri, Hemingway-style, is mine.The frozen Hemingway Special, the Islands in the Stream libation, rushes through my head: wild as the wake of Hemingway's 38-foot custom-built motor launch, the Pilar, when it chasedbillfish; or during World War II, when it was outfitted as a Q-boat and unsuccessfully hunted Nazi submarines. Hemingway's nine-man crew, recruited here at the Floridita and at Sloppy Joe's bar, included a couple of jai-alai players chosen for their ability to throw grenades down hatchways.

I'd trailed Hemingway's ghost to Animas and Agramonte and imagined the Sloppy Joe's that once stood there. Hemingway accompanied good friend "Sloppy" Joe Russell on rum-running expeditions between Key West and Havana during prohibition. That's how Russell earned the cash to open the "high-ceilinged bottle-encrusted, tile-floored oasis" commemorated in the pages of Hemingway's novel To Have and Have Not (1937) as Freddy's.

Russell served as Hemingway's model for Freddy, and was immortalized by Humphrey Bogart in the 1941 film version that shot both Bogey and Lauren Bacall to fame. The nearest Sloppy Joe's is in Key West, just 90 miles across the strait from Havana Bay. In the 1950s, Havana was America's playground with assets estimated at over a billion dollars. Since the 1961 U.S. trade embargo against Castro's Cuba, those 90 miles may as well be a million.

On the dust-encrusted streets of old Havana, young woman of all colors, in tight and trendy Lycra and tipsy platform shoes, lounge against ancient stone colonnades of buildings whose pastel paint is peeling away in the sun. Black women descended from African slaves wear bright print frocks and turbans, Caribbean-style. Men play dominoes on street corners. Construction workers, covered like clowns in cement dust and paint, throng the streets. Salsa bands make music in every café. Cigar smoke and dust issue from Havana's mouth like the exhaust from the metallic spectrum of motorized memories factory-made in a fifties Detroit and a sixties Moscow: gleaming DeSotos, Packards, Chevys and Oldsmobiles; Russian-made Ladas and Moskovitches.

By now the jintarios (hustlers), as much a fixture as the rococo churches, cool plazas and signboards with slogans like "Antimperialistas," sidle up to me no more. They are too busy hawking Petite Upmanns (President Kennedy's favorite) and cigar factory tours (Partagas and Uppman) to the Europeans that come in busloads to throng the ancient cobblestone streets.

The night of my rhumba is melting away. I pick up an early morning breeze from Havana Bay that stays with me like a sensually whispering companion. As soon as the streets come to life again, we browse the Plaza De Armas, the 15th-century square, scavenging the secondhand book market for old editions of Islands in the Stream and The Old Man and the Sea, Hemingway's novels written and set in Cuba. We follow Hemingway's tracks down Calle Obispo, Hemingway's favorite street that leads from cocktail time at the Floridita to Room 511 of the Ambos Mundos hotel where America (and Cuba's) literary son penned For Whom the Bell Tolls (1940).On the stone, rubble and marble streets that have made Old Havana a World Heritage Site; jineteros sell cigars, Palador touts entice with offers of cheap restaurants in homes, and beggars ask for dollars. The whole city hangs about outside the tourist hotels and bars against a real life set of elegant stone pillars, shady parks, 15th-century baroque buildings, rococo churches volcanic with construction debris and garbage. It is a city of extremes, old and new, past and present, seething with seamy excitement, vigor and simpatico – like too many Havana nights on a rhumba.

Smoking in "Papa's" Havana:

Smoking is de rigueur on the streets, in restaurants and bars of Havana.

Most memorable places to smoke: Along Calle Obispo. Start at the beautiful 15th-century colonial Plaza de Armas. Sit in the cool shade of the incredible buildings and enjoy a mojito or café and a salsa band. Next stop, the Ambos Mundos hotel's rooftop bar for the spellbinding view that held Ernest Hemingway. End at the elegant, and air- conditioned El Floridita Bar, where you can smoke (Hemingway preferred cheroots), and admire old photos of Hemingway and friends. A violin, cellist and accordion play like a European orchestra for patrons.

What to Look For: Handmade cigars are marked with the Cubatabaco stamp plus a factory mark. Collectible"pre-Castro" or "pre-embargo" cigars made before President Kennedy's U.S. trade embargo against Cuba are marked "MADE IN HAVANA CUBA" rather than "Hencho en Cuba.

At time of writing U.S. citizens need a license to engage in any transactions related to Cuba, but tourist and business travel are not licensable, even through a third country such as the Caribbean, Mexico or Canada. That said, tens of thousands of Americans skirt the law every year by entering Cuba (illegally) through a different country. Packages, direct flights and individual travel arrangements can be booked from Canada, Jamaica, Bahamas, Mexico and Europe. It is worth noting that the U.S. Treasury Department sent notes to 443 Americans between May and July of 2001 informing them of fines averaging $7,500 for illegal visits. Customs agents have also been seen in Canada and the Bahamas catching unsuspecting Americans departing planes returning from Cuba. Americans are allowed to travel to Cuba on some authorized cultural tours. Ask your travel agent for details.

If you like this story you’ll love Victoria Brooks' piece "Ernest Hemingway: To Have and Have Not in Cuba"featured in the book Literary Trips: Following in the Footsteps of Fame.www.literarytrips.com

The frozen Hemingway Special, the Islands
in the Stream libation, rushes through my head: wild as the wake of Hemingway's
38-foot custom-built motor launch, the Pilar, when it chasedbillfish; or
during World War II, when it was outfitted as a Q-boat and unsuccessfully hunted Nazi
submarines. Hemingway's nine-man crew, recruited here at the Floridita and at Sloppy Joe's
bar, included a couple of jai-alai players chosen for their ability to throw grenades down
hatchways.

I'd trailed Hemingway's ghost to Animas and Agramonte and imagined the Sloppy Joe's
that once stood there. Hemingway accompanied good friend "Sloppy" Joe Russell on
rum-running expeditions between Key West and Havana during prohibition. That's how Russell
earned the cash to open the "high-ceilinged bottle-encrusted, tile-floored
oasis" commemorated in the pages of Hemingway's novel To Have and Have Not
(1937) as Freddy's.

Russell served as Hemingway's model for Freddy, and was immortalized by Humphrey Bogart
in the 1941 film version that shot both Bogey and Lauren Bacall to fame. The nearest
Sloppy Joe's is in Key West, just 90 miles across the strait from Havana Bay. In the
1950s, Havana was America's playground with assets estimated at over a billion dollars.
Since the 1961 U.S. trade embargo against Castro's Cuba, those 90 miles may as well be a
million.

On the dust-encrusted streets of old Havana, young woman of all colors, in tight and
trendy Lycra and tipsy platform shoes, lounge against ancient stone colonnades of
buildings whose pastel paint is peeling away in the sun. Black women descended from
African slaves wear bright print frocks and turbans, Caribbean-style. Men play dominoes on
street corners. Construction workers, covered like clowns in cement dust and paint, throng
the streets. Salsa bands make music in every café. Cigar smoke and dust issue from
Havana's mouth like the exhaust from the metallic spectrum of motorized memories
factory-made in a fifties Detroit and a sixties Moscow: gleaming DeSotos, Packards, Chevys
and Oldsmobiles; Russian-made Ladas and Moskovitches.

By now the jintarios (hustlers), as
much a fixture as the rococo churches, cool plazas and signboards with slogans like "Antimperialistas,"
sidle up to me no more. They are too busy hawking Petite Upmanns (President Kennedy's
favorite) and cigar factory tours (Partagas and Uppman) to the Europeans that come in
busloads to throng the ancient cobblestone streets.

The night of my rhumba is melting
away. I pick up an early morning breeze from Havana Bay that stays with me like a
sensually whispering companion. As soon as the streets come to life again, we browse the
Plaza De Armas, the 15th-century square, scavenging the secondhand book market for old
editions of Islands in the Stream and The Old Man and the Sea, Hemingway's
novels written and set in Cuba. We follow Hemingway's tracks down Calle Obispo,
Hemingway's favorite street that leads from cocktail time at the Floridita to Room 511 of
the Ambos Mundos hotel where America (and Cuba's) literary son penned For Whom the Bell
Tolls (1940).On the stone, rubble and marble streets that have made Old Havana a World Heritage
Site; jineteros sell cigars, Palador touts entice with offers of cheap
restaurants in homes, and beggars ask for dollars. The whole city hangs about outside the
tourist hotels and bars against a real life set of elegant stone pillars, shady parks,
15th-century baroque buildings, rococo churches volcanic with construction debris and
garbage. It is a city of extremes, old and new, past and present, seething with seamy
excitement, vigor and simpatico – like too many Havana nights on a rhumba.

Smoking in "Papa's"
Havana:

Smoking is de rigueur on the streets, in restaurants and bars of Havana.

Most memorable places to smoke: Along Calle Obispo. Start at the beautiful 15th-century
colonial Plaza de Armas. Sit in the cool shade of the incredible buildings and enjoy a mojito
or café and a salsa band. Next stop, the Ambos Mundos hotel's rooftop bar for the
spellbinding view that held Ernest Hemingway. End at the elegant, and air- conditioned El
Floridita Bar, where you can smoke (Hemingway preferred cheroots), and admire old photos
of Hemingway and friends. A violin, cellist and accordion play like a European orchestra
for patrons.

What to Look For: Handmade cigars are marked with the Cubatabaco stamp plus a factory
mark. Collectible"pre-Castro" or "pre-embargo" cigars
made before President Kennedy's U.S. trade embargo against Cuba are marked "MADE IN
HAVANA CUBA" rather than "Hencho en Cuba.

At time of writing U.S. citizens need a license to engage in any transactions related to
Cuba, but tourist and business travel are not licensable, even through a third country
such as the Caribbean, Mexico or Canada. That said, tens of thousands of Americans skirt
the law every year by entering Cuba (illegally) through a different country. Packages,
direct flights and individual travel arrangements can be booked from Canada, Jamaica,
Bahamas, Mexico and Europe. It is worth noting that the U.S. Treasury Department sent
notes to 443 Americans between May and July of 2001 informing them of fines averaging
$7,500 for illegal visits. Customs agents have also been seen in Canada and the Bahamas
catching unsuspecting Americans departing planes returning from Cuba. Americans are
allowed to travel to Cuba on some authorized cultural tours. Ask your travel agent for
details.